Unwavering
by DinoDina
Summary: Todd's there for Neil when he needs it. Anderperry oneshot.


Neil approached Todd first, way back on their first day. All smiles, laughter, and confidence, he'd made Todd his friend even before their first full conversation was over. That was just the way Neil was. He _understood_ the way Todd cringed before he confirmed that he was _that_ Anderson.

They weren't friends, then. Not the first time they walked to their classes and Todd felt himself die a bit every time he realized he sat at the very front of the room and teachers—all knowing about _that_ Anderson—tried to spark his interest and participation. They weren't friends until the end of that first week, not for lack of trying on Neil's part.

His hair looked so soft from far away.

Perhaps that was the reason Todd had kept his distance. The only thing softer than Neil's hair was his eyes. The way he looked at Todd—but not only at him. Neil had a way about him that made everyone feel welcomed. Accepted. Included. When he talked, his voice danced and his eyes gleamed and the words perforated Todd's soul even if they weren't directed at him.

Neil had been made for the stage. Even before he'd joined the theater, he talked to an audience. Not an adoring one that he knew hung on to his every word, not even a hateful one waiting for him to leave the stage in order to pellet him with tomatoes and criticisms, but a natural audience. People who _listened_. Friends, not teachers. Not family. People who'd hear the feelings and thoughts behind the words.

He talked like that because he listened like that.

And he didn't take any bullshit, no matter how he listened. Not Todd's protests about writing, not his protests about talking, not his protests about making friends. He bent the rules and created new ones.

Todd had never met anyone like him. He didn't want to meet anyone else like him, either. There was only so much energy he could take. It was why he didn't go out into the grounds with the other boys some days, preferring to stay in the library instead. It was why he went to bed early without going to study group sometimes, only saying goodnight to Neil when he came in late. It was why he was content to sit on the sidelines and let Neil have the adventures, and wile Neil questioned him, he shared his experiences and let Todd be.

For the most part. Neil challenged him in exactly the way Todd needed to be challenged, all the while smiling kindly and looking exceptionally kissable.

After several months of living together, Todd thought he had a fairly solid grasp of who Neil was.

But the silence from the other side of the room didn't belong to the Neil Todd knew. He'd not even said goodnight when he'd come back from rehearsal. And now…

Neil didn't quite snore, not the way Jeffrey did, keeping up the whole house and ribbing Todd when he complained about it, but he wheezed a bit. Mumbled. Made just enough noise to abate Todd's fear that he was dead. Irrational, yes, but he'd always been a little odd when it came to things like that.

He was suspiciously silent and the next time Todd rolled over, he opened his eyes. Neil was lying down, alright, but he was so still.

Part of Todd rolled over and went back to sleep. Another part, the part that was human, that had learned, and experienced, and grown ever since meeting Neil, sat up and crossed the distance between the two beds.

He knelt next to Neil's bed and reached a hesitant hand out, not quite touching, but there for comfort. "Neil?"

Silence.

"Neil, I know you're awake." He waited. He felt Neil sigh and open his eyes. "You're… I know something's up. And it's… it's alright not to talk about it. But you need to sleep. Can I help you?"

Neil mumbled something, not loud enough for Todd to hear, and shifted so that his hair touched Todd's fingers from when he'd reached out. Todd slowly began playing with the few strands close to him.

He knew Neil, knew the way he talked and moved, and waited with bated breath, knees growing stiff on the cold floor, for Neil to say something. He knew Neil's silences, and just like he'd known that the previous silence was unusual, he knew that Neil was composing his thoughts and building up to talking.

"I imagined I forgot my lines."

Todd fought the instinct to still the hand in Neil's hair.

"I'm the newest person there. What if they kick me out?"

"They won't!" Everything in him protested at speaking directly without thinking, but Todd pressed on: "And… and I know it's easy to say but not to think. And I know you think that I'm your friend you I _have_ to say this, but I believe in you, Neil. You work harder than anyone I know."

When Todd thought like this, he bottled up his fears and pushed them way down into his soul to fester and give strength to others like them. When Neil admitted to the same experience, he wanted to hug him, hold him and swat the fears away.

He didn't know why he thought Neil was invincible to pressure. Perhaps because he'd always presented himself that way to the world.

"You're not alone," he said, because if he didn't say it now, it would be too late when the fear made a nest for itself around Neil's heart and convinced him of other things that were far more alienating than forgetting his lines. He knew it was more than that, now, too. "It… might not feel like it now, but you're going to be okay."

Leaning up on his free arm and putting more of his weight on the bed to be closer to Neil, Todd slowed the hand carding though Neil's hair. He'd seen Neil happy, excited, tired, angry—never sad. Disappointed, yes, even discouraged. But this was an entirely new Neil, and this one _needed_ him.

Neil said something that might have been "Thanks"—said it with a familiar inflection and calmer face that led Todd to let out a breath of relief—and took Todd's hand.

"You should get some sleep," he whispered, but didn't move, and the sun came up hours later to see him still next to Neil, their hands linked.


End file.
